


my pillow smells just like your skin

by bustedsuspect



Series: Sterek AU's [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Beacon Hills, Casual, F/M, Friends With Benefits, M/M, kind of, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bustedsuspect/pseuds/bustedsuspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sterek AU based on <a href="http://sarcasticlittleshitstiles.tumblr.com/post/78039595126/derek-has-to-see-him-its-pouring-with-rain-and">THIS</a> gifset.</p><p>It was only ever supposed to be fucking - but as usual, feelings get in the way and Stiles is royally fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my pillow smells just like your skin

**Author's Note:**

> first fic! lyrics from Morning Air by Jason Reeves

Stiles meets Cora at the end of year party. There’s too much alcohol and he is on top of the world with the whole of summer looming ahead of him. She’s pretty enough, and she’s funny and smart and she’s only in town until the end of summer. She’s not looking for anything serious – _just a summer romance with a cute boy, maybe?_ – and Stiles thinks that maybe that’s good enough for him.

They meet up again the next day at the only cafe in Beacon Hills, this time without the haze of vodka, and Stiles still likes her well enough. She’s not Lydia by any standards, is something grey and pale in comparison, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe after all the drama he’s had to deal with later he needs someone a little less _fiery_. Cora ticks all the right boxes and says all the right things at all the right times, and by the end of the first week Stiles thinks maybe he could love her for it, one day. Because Cora is easy and she doesn’t push him or ask questions.

And even though she’ll be going off to college in September and he’ll still be here in Beacon Hills for one last year of school, he doesn’t mind. Because six weeks isn’t long enough to fall in love with someone, is it, so it’s not like he’ll end up getting too attached.

*

At the beginning of the second week of summer, Cora invites Stiles over to her place to stay the night, and Stiles doesn’t really understand it but he says yes anyway. They watch a chick-flick tucked up in her bed, and when they have sex for the first time it’s gentle and it’s nice enough and it’s _easy_. She curls her slight frame up around him afterwards and falls asleep, dark hair fanned out across the pillow. Stiles thinks she looks like an angel, sweet and soft. He thinks that maybe an angel isn’t quite what he’s looking for, though.

Stiles can’t fall asleep as easily as she can. He lies there next to her for a while, listening to her breathing, but then he gets fidgety and decides to go down and get a glass of water from the kitchen. He tiptoes down the stairs in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, careful not to wake her. 

The kitchen light is already on. Stiles is sure that Cora turned it off.

There’s a man in there when Stiles walks through the door. He’s tall, much taller than Stiles. He turns around at the sound of his footsteps, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat. He has the same dark hair as his sister, except short and styled upwards and a darker shade of ebony. His lips are pink and set in a thin line, and his skin is alabaster. He’s wearing nothing but a black towel, slung low off of his hips. He’s…he’s so fucking broad, is the thing. Stiles doesn’t think he’s seen anything like it before, the definition of his muscles and his abs and the size of his arms. Jackson is the most built guy he knows, and he doesn't even come close to this dude. _He’s beautiful_ , Stiles thinks, but he quickly swallows the thought down.

“Hi,” the man says, looking Stiles up and down and then turning back around again. Stiles is momentarily distracted by all the muscles in his back that flex when he moves.

“Sorry, dude,” he manages to say then. “I didn’t realise anyone else was here. I thought-”

“-that Cora owned a three bed apartment?” he suggests flatly. “She’s seventeen.”

“Right,” Stiles says. 

The guy gives him a look as he reaches up to pull a bowl out of the cupboard behind him. The towel around his waist shifts slightly; dips to show off the shape of his perfectly sculptured V, the smooth expanse of his hips and the smattering of dark hair there disappearing down beneath the towel. 

Stiles clears his throat. “And who _are_ you, exactly?”

He looks up and fixes his green eyes on him in mild surprise. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No,” he frowns. “She doesn’t really tell me much at _all_ , actually.”

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, resting his endless bare legs up onto the top. “That sounds like Cora,” he says mildly. “I’m Derek, then. Her brother, part-time guardian and full-time pain in the ass. And you are?”

“Stiles,” he says, shaking his hand. “Her…well. Sort of friend, I guess.”

“Not for much longer, pal.”

“Sorry?”

“She won’t keep you around,” Derek shrugs. “Cora likes a challenge. She’s an adrenaline junkie, but you don’t make her scream.”

Stiles just stares at him. “ _Pardon_?”

“When you fuck her,” he says, all matter-of-fact. “You don’t make her scream. She’s had boyfriends that make the whole apartment shake, but not you.”

“Oh,” Stiles says weakly.

“Paper walls,” Derek shrugs again. He takes a slow mouthful of cereal. “…not saying she didn’t enjoy it, pal. I guess girls like a little bit of _gentle love-making_ from time to time.”

His voice is dripping with sarcasm and Stiles thinks the guy might be a right little shit, actually, beautiful face and body aside. Still, Stiles forces a smile. “I guess they do.”

“Nothing beats a good fucking though,” he says then. “Having someone wreck you and tear you apart and fuck you up. That’s _my_ kind of sex.”

Stiles feels a little hot under the collar. He should leave, he should go back up to Cora, but he can’t tear his eyes off of the man in front of him. There’s something about him that makes Stiles’ skin prickle, makes his pulse quicken. “That’s, uh…that’s good to know,” he says.

“Yeah,” Derek, says. Their eyes meet across the room, green on brown, and their gazes linger a little too long. Stiles swallows hard, and Derek’s tongue darts out to wet his lips – Stiles can’t help but feel that there’s something predatory about it. “Yeah, it is.”

*

After that Stiles finds any excuse he can to spend time at the Hale apartment. He tries to ignore the sinking feeling that settles deep into his bones when Derek isn’t there, sprawled across the sofa or leaning against one of the metal beams stretching from floor to ceiling. He _is_ there mostly, though. Stiles starts noticing all sorts of little things about him, even when they don’t usually actually talk to each other; the way he runs his fingers through his hair, teasing it upwards into it’s usual quiff, the way he hardly ever wears clothes around the apartment, the way his voice is especially raspy first thing in the morning. Stiles doesn’t know why, but he likes knowing all these little things. He wants to learn more, wants to pick them up one by one over time and catalogue them in his mind in the forbidden little special corner reserved just for Derek Hale.

Cora doesn’t notice. She doesn’t notice the way Stiles always suggests they watch tv in the living room instead of in her bedroom. She doesn’t notice the way he sometimes catches himself just staring at her brother from across the room. She doesn’t notice the way that most of the time when he tumbles over the edge of his orgasm he has the image of someone else burnt into his mind, and she definitely doesn’t notice the way he has to clamp his mouth shut to stop him crying out the wrong name. Cora doesn’t notice, and Cora continues to be nice and sweet and funny and smart and easy, and so Stiles doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t tell her that for some ungodly reason he finds her brother obscenely attractive and he certainly doesn’t tell her all the things he’d like to do to him if he only had the _guts_.

Stiles starts dreaming of Derek at night. Stiles hasn’t had a wet dream in almost seven years, until he meets Derek. Now, more often than not, Stiles jolts upright in the middle of the night with sticky sheets, gasping at the air, someone else’s green eyes still seared into the backs of his eyelids.

*

At the end of the second week, Cora goes on a trip out of state. 

She’s visiting a friend of hers who moved out there on a gap year. She’s almost apologetic to Stiles when she tells him, and that makes him feel as if he should’ve answered with something a little more distraught than a shrug – because they are together, after all, and he shouldn’t be looking forward to her leaving town. Especially not so that he can spend time with her older brother.

She leaves on the Friday morning. He turns up outside her apartment early Saturday evening with a dish in his hand – because Cora had once mentioned how much the Hale’s loved cherry pie and he couldn’t resist spending the entire afternoon perfecting one.

Derek opens the door. Just the sight of him makes something inside of Stiles’ flip – makes it twist and churn and flutter. Makes him feel alive.

“Hi,” he says brightly, pasting on a smile. “Is Cora in?”

“She’s not here,” Derek says slowly. Always slow, always sexy, always such a huge fucking temptation. He studies Stiles’ face with dark eyes. “She’s out of town.”

“ _Really_?” Stiles says, his eyes wide with perfectly honed mock-surprise. “What’s she doing there?”

“Visiting a friend,” he frowns. He opens the door slightly and Stiles catches sight of some skin. A lot of skin, actually, even more so than last time – and _jesus fucking christ_ this guy is going to be the death of him if he keeps insisting on not wearing clothes around the house. “She didn’t tell you? She’s known about it for months.”

“Not that I remember,” Stiles lies smoothly. He lets out a long, weary sigh. “Shit, I feel like a right dick now. I thought we were going to have a nice night in. I baked a _pie_ and everything.”

The door opens a fraction more. “A pie? What flavour?”

“…cherry?” he says hopefully.

Derek opens the door fully in one swift movement, and Stiles feels a rush of relief. “Well we shouldn’t let a good pie go to waste,” he says briskly. “I suppose I can entertain you for a while.”

They go into the living room. Derek sets them up on the bigger of the two sofas, with a tray for the pie and a spoon each. He switches on the television and they just sit there, side by side, each of them dipping into the dessert silently as they watch the screen.

Or, rather, while Derek watches the screen. Because Stiles’ whole body is thrumming, alive and wired with energy. Because Derek has never been this close, and he is only wearing a pair of patterned board shorts and he looks _so fucking good_. So Stiles watches Derek instead, and only misses his mouth once with the spoon when he gets particularly distracted by the way Derek swallows down his pudding, Adams Apple bobbing obscenely.

They finish the pie, and the programme on the television draws to an end. Stiles doesn’t remember what it was, but Derek sighs a lot and starts flicking through the programmes trying to find something else to replace is with.

“Saturday night tv is _shit_ ,” Derek complains eventually, switching the box off completely. “No wonder I never watch it.”

“No?” Stiles says. “What do you do instead?”

The older boy runs a hand through his curls and furrows his eyebrows a little, and it shouldn’t make his heart stutter but it does anyway. “Well, Saturday night is date night,” he shrugs. 

Stiles processes the information, tries not to picture him out on a date with a hot girl. “You don’t…you haven’t got anyone? For date night, I mean?”

“Like who?” Derek asks, turning on the sofa so that they’re face to face.

“Like…I don’t know. Like a girlfriend, maybe?”

He looks like he wants to laugh. Stiles wants to laugh too, deep in the pit of his stomach. He can feel it bubbling up, just beneath the surface, hysterical and ready to erupt – and it’s _Derek_ that does this to him, _Derek_ that makes him feel so unstable. “Stiles, I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was eleven.”

“Oh,” Stiles says.

“No boyfriend, though,” he hums. “Not at the moment. Not for tonight.”

“Oh,” Stiles says again, his voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

And Derek is looking at him, studying him, watching him, his green eyes fixed so resolutely on him that he can feel his skin prickling underneath his scrutiny. And it’s intense – everything about Derek fucking Hale is intense. 

“No,” Stiles mutters finally. Because he’s the best liar he knows, but right here, right now, he can’t do it for shit.

“Have you ever been with another guy, Stiles?” Derek asks, his head tilted to one side, his eyes focused. 

“No,” Stiles squeaks. But what he really means is _I never wanted to before you_.

“You should,” Derek says thoughtfully. “It’s good, Stiles. So much better than a girl. So much _more_. Because I’ve tried both, you know? Fucked both, been fucked by both. And girls are okay but they’re not the best. Boys are best. You haven’t lived until you’ve been properly fucked by a boy.”

Stiles let out a little noise. “R-Really?”

“Really,” Derek nods. “Boys just know what other boys like. They know where to put their hands, and what to do with them. And their hands are so _big_ , Stiles. So much bigger. They can do so much more. I’ve never met a girl who has me begging for it as much as a boy could. Boys really make me beg, Stiles. Down on my hands and knees, begging. I’d do anything for a boy. Boys are hot, aren’t they? Don’t you think?”

Stiles just looks at him, his hands trembling and his breathing irregular, and swallows hard.

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Thought so.”

He leans forward on the sofa so that his mouth is inches from Stiles’, his breath light across his lips. “I could fuck you so good, Stiles,” he murmurs. “I could get you so worked up. I could have you underneath me, begging me, chanting my name.”

Stiles can’t move, can’t make a single noise because his voice is so dry with longing. Derek shifts closer, runs his hand gentle up Stiles’ thigh. And Stiles should move, Stiles should say something, Stiles should push him away because he knows that Derek is teasing, he knows that Derek is mocking him. But he can’t. 

The older boy’s hand inches closer to Stiles’ crotch, and then his palm is ghosting across Stiles’ growing bulge. Stiles inhales sharply and tries desperately not to explode.

“Hmm. A straight boy that likes men, huh?” Derek drawls, his voice saccharine. He gives Stiles’ thigh a squeeze and then sits back on the sofa again, putting distance between them. “Well _aren’t_ you just the sweetest of contradictions?”

And yeah, Stiles is sort of royally fucked.

*

Stiles can’t sleep. He tries, at first. He tosses and turns in his bed but his mind keeps wandering back to Derek, to all the things he said and the way he looked and the way he smelt and the stupid little smile he does when he lets his guard down and Stiles is too wired to sleep because _everything_ is Derek and he doesn’t know how to stop it – doesn’t know if even wants to.

He doesn’t know why he goes back over there. Or, rather, he does know why – he just can’t believe he actually follows through with it. Maybe it’s because the thought of Derek won’t stop pulsing through his veins and maybe, just maybe, he can have this one dirty little secret. It’s dark out and Beacon Hills is still and his fingers drum impatiently against the steering wheel of his jeep as he drives.

He pulls up into one of the empty parking spaces outside the building a few minutes later. He pulls himself together before he climbs out, pulling at the bottom of his jumper and ruffling up his hair with his fingertips. He knocks on the front door, once, twice, three times.

It takes a moment for Derek to answer, and in those seconds Stiles feels like he might just die. But then the door is being pulled open and Derek is right there in front of him – and it’s only been an hour or two since he left but Stiles has almost _missed_ him, and now that he’s here again everything around him has come back into focus, sharp and clear and beautiful.

“Stiles,” he says, clearly surprised. He’s changed out of his board shorts and now all he’s wearing is a pair of tight boxer-briefs, ready for bed. “Did you forget something?”

“Sort of,” Stiles mumbles. He steps forward onto the doorstep and looks up at the older boy through his eyelashes, his hands shaking and his heart pounding. “It’s, er…it’s about that whole fucking-me-so-good thing? Was that a promise, or…?”

Realisation dawns across Derek’s face, lighting up his green eyes. Stiles half expects him to tease him again and torment him further, but he doesn’t. He just gives him a filthy smirk and pulls Stiles forward into the house by the front of his shirt, and slams the front door shut after them.

*

Being with Cora is easy, because Cora is sweet and nice and smart and funny in equal measures, but being with Derek is _breath-taking_. Derek is a little wild and rough around the edges, and he’s often sharp and regularly unpredictable and he’s always, _always_ exciting  - and he turns out to be more of a handful than Stiles could ever have predicted. 

They see each other every day that Cora is away. Mainly at night, but sometimes during the day too. They just fuck, mostly. Derek takes him apart piece by piece and he wrecks him and fucks him up and he has Stiles chanting his name just like he promised like it’s a fucking _mantra_ , and Stiles _loves_ it. 

Because Stiles always shied away from excitement, like he shied away from Lydia, and he’s always chosen the easy route, like he chose Cora. Derek isn’t easy, though, but Stiles soon realises that he’s everything he never knew he wanted instead. 

Each time they meet, they stay together a little longer. Hurried goodbyes turn into pillow talk, which soon stretches out into real conversation. Derek and Cora are so similar that it actually hurts, sometimes, except everything with Derek is emphasised and amplified until the proportions are so, so out of touch. So he’s a handful, and sometimes he makes Stiles frown and sometimes he makes Stiles cry with laughter but he _always_ makes Stiles happy so he’s more than worth the effort it takes to keep up with him.

Stiles realises it’s gotten out of hand somewhere in the middle of the fourth week of summer. He realises it when Derek mentions another boy and jealousy shoots through him, white hot and burning. He realises it when he finds he’s memorised the shape and shade of the other boy’s lips. It’s sort of a sinking feeling, that realisation that he’s started falling when it was only ever supposed to be a crush. Because there is just two weeks of summer left before he has to go back to school and that’s not long enough but it’s also too much at the same time, so Stiles doesn’t think about it. 

*

The night before Cora comes home to Beacon Hills, Derek sleeps at Stiles’ house. He doesn’t mean to, but it happens anyway. The Sheriff is working the late shift so they don’t worry about him, and now it’s late, and they’ve spent the best part of four hours having mind-blowing sex and aggressively battling each other at cards. Stiles shouldn’t find it so endearing when Derek snorts with laughter or throws his hand down in a huff, but he does.

Now the older boy is curled up in Stiles’ double bed, his hair dark against the pillow. His thick eyebrows are furrowed in sleep, his lips parted, and Stiles thinks that maybe he should look like an angel because he’s so goddamn beautiful, but he doesn’t. He looks like the devil, tempting and volatile and dangerously attractive, and somehow that is a million times better.

Mainly, though, Stiles just thinks he looks perfect – and when Derek rolls over in his sleep and reaches for his hand, Stiles holds him back twice as tight.

*

Cora comes back. 

She’s caught a bit of a tan from the good weather and she looks really happy and healthy and pretty, but Stiles can’t look at her the same. Her hands are the wrong size in his, her hair too long, her lips too full, her body too curvy. Stiles feels so guilty that it makes him feel sick. He feels guilty and dirty and _wrong_ , but that’s wrong in itself because being with Derek could never be anything other than very very _right_. Before, being with Cora was easy. Now it is difficult, so so difficult. Now every second is a lie and every second is Stiles wishing he were somewhere else. Wishing he were with Derek. 

The first time she invites him round, he goes – but only because he knows Derek isn’t in. it’s not that he doesn’t want to see him, exactly – except it is. He wants to see him and he doesn’t want to see him in equal parts. He doesn’t know what it is; all he knows is that when Derek is around, it’s easier to catch his breath.

The second time she invites him round, he refuses, because he knows Derek is there doing some reading for work. So she comes round to his house instead, and they watch a film and kiss a little and the whole time Stiles thinks of someone else.

Derek turns up at the house not even half an hour after his sister leaves.

“You smell like her,” is the first thing he says, and it almost sounds like an accusation. Stiles sniffs at the collar of his t-shirt, and sure enough Cora has left her mark there, sweet and floral. Stiles doesn’t want sweet and floral. Stiles wants musk and spice and _man_.

“She just left,” Stiles says. Derek steps over the threshold and into Stiles’ house, crowding him. Stiles thinks that maybe that’s the way it’s always been since the first time they met four weeks ago – enveloped and surrounded and swallowed whole by everything that is distinctively Derek.

“You haven’t been round.”

“I know,” Stiles whispers. And he promised himself he wouldn’t do this, that he wouldn’t do this to _Cora_ , but he can’t help the way his pulse quickens or his heart stutters in his chest, because it’s _Derek_ and he has become so much in so little time and Stiles still hasn’t gotten his head around it, because it was only ever supposed to be one good fuck.

Derek reaches out, brushes his fingertips against the skin of Stiles’ arm; alabaster against alabaster, like two sides of the same coin. “She doesn’t have to know, Stiles. We can…we can keep this between us.”

Stiles swallows hard. Because he wants this, he wants to _believe_ this, but he can’t. He can’t keep on keeping all these secrets. “I can’t lie, Derek. Not to your sister.”

“Because she’s a girl?”

“Because she’s my _girlfriend_. And you’re just…”

Derek freezes. “Just _what_?”

“You’re just you and I’m just me and we were just having a good time, weren’t we?” Stiles says. Even though it’s a lie. Even though he thinks maybe he loved Derek right from the very start. Except that’s just his problem, isn’t it? Falling in love with people who don’t have the capacity to love him back. Stiles always loved faster, harder, more – and that wasn’t Derek’s fault in the slightest but it stung all the same. “You were just showing me how it could be, weren’t you? With a boy. You were just showing me.”

“…yeah,” Derek says eventually, frowning a little. “Yeah, obviously.  But…that’s it? Fun over?”

“I can’t see you _both_ ,” Stiles says weakly.

“No,” he says. He scratches the back of his head, ruffles his hair, looks back at Stiles with blank eyes. “I guess not.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles mumbles, but what he really wants to say is _I’m sorry, I would chose you if I could, I think I might just love you_ , but that’s far too much.

“Why? It was just fucking, pal. Don’t overthink it.”

Stiles feels his stomach sinking down, down. Because it was _never_ just fucking, not for him. Not even at the beginning. “Right.”

Derek’s face softens. “You’ve got my number.”

Stiles nods glumly. Derek steps forwards, hesitates, and then raises his arms to cup Stiles’ face in his huge hands. He ducks his head until his lips are pressed against Stiles’ own, and it’s brief and chaste and gentle and then Derek is gone without another word, disappearing off down the path and into the darkness.

Stiles brushes his mouth with his fingertips, and his breath catches in his throat as he realises that after all this time, _that_ was their very first kiss.

And if he didn’t know it before, he knows for certain now that he’s so absolutely and completely fucked that he doesn’t even know where to start.

*

Stiles calls Derek before the fifth week of summer is even up. He hasn’t said a word to Cora, but everything is so out of focus, everything has shifted and changed and blurred and if Stiles doesn’t get the clarity that Derek brings soon he is going to explode.

Derek doesn’t ask questions. He turns up on the doorstep ten minutes later and leads Stiles up the stairs to his room. He fucks Stiles into the mattress as good as always, but this time he leaves trails of kisses in his wake. This time, instead of just _a good fuck_ , it feels something like _sex_.

Derek doesn’t say anything about the fact that Stiles’ eyes are damp after, even if he can still see the tears shining there. Stiles is eternally grateful, because he wouldn’t know how to talk about it. Wouldn’t know how to put all that he was feeling into words. Wouldn’t know how to tell him how much it scared him to feel this much, to fall so hard.

Derek doesn’t say a word. He just pulls Stiles closer underneath the covers and curls himself around him, curls until they are an intrinsic tangle of limbs, and then holds him tight.

*

Stiles wakes up on the first morning of the last week of summer with a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. One more week, and then all this will be over. Cora will be at university and he will be at school and his summer will have faded away as nothing more than a distant memory.

That day he sees both of them. Cora first, round at her apartment. Derek’s there, Stiles knows it, but they don’t cross paths. Cora talks excitedly about moving on with her life and leaving Beacon Hills. Stiles really, really wishes that he cared. He wishes he’d fallen in love with _her_ this summer, instead of her brother. He wishes it was _her_ who filled every one of his thoughts, because that would be _easy_. But he didn’t and so it’s not and so when he kisses her goodbye as he leaves, he’s careful to _just_ miss the edge of her mouth.

“I can taste her,” Derek says later that night.

“You can’t,” Stiles argues.

Derek just looks at him, a frown tugging at his lips. Stiles lets out a soft sigh and reaches out to pull him closer, to kiss him long and hard and thorough until they are both panting and rutting against each other needily.

“Better?” he whispers, his forehead pressed against the older boys, brown eyes looking imploringly into green. Derek just nods and leans forward to steal another kiss.

*

They don’t have sex that night. They kiss a whole lot, though, and Stiles thinks that he might just prefer that.

Derek asks to say. Stiles says yes. They curl up in Stiles’ bed and speak in murmured conversation until the sun starts to rise above the town outside the window. “Are you still sleeping with her?” Derek asks, his voice a whisper, on the very edge of sleep.

“No!” Stiles whispers back, his face flushing. “No, I…I couldn’t. I _can’t_. I only think of you.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Stiles lies there frozen, his thoughts swirling at a hundred miles an hour. But then Derek reaches over and takes Stiles’ hand in his own beneath the sheets, pulls him close, buries his face into Stiles’ chest. “Good,” he whispers. “That’s good.”

*

Derek sees Stiles kissing her. It’s the briefest of kisses, just a press of lips on lips, but Derek sees it. Later, when the three of them are in the kitchen, Derek tries to talk to Stiles. Stiles shoots him a look and nods at Cora and then he suggests out loud that the two of them go into her room to watch a film. They leave. Derek is alone.

Derek is furious. He doesn’t understand why. He’s not mad at Stiles and he’s not mad at Cora and he’s not really even mad at himself for getting into the situation in the first place. He’s just mad, and it simmers under the surface for the rest of the week. He doesn’t text Stiles back, doesn’t answer his calls, doesn’t see him. And it almost kills him, how much he misses him.

That’s when Derek realises how deep he’s fallen. And it was supposed to be one good fuck, it was only ever supposed to be one good fuck, but Stiles has turned out to be so much more. It’s only been six weeks, but it feels more like a lifetime.

Derek has to see him. It’s pouring with rain and the air is heavy with a summer storm and the sky keeps flashing lilac with lightening, but still Derek goes. He runs the whole way, doesn’t stop until he’s at Stiles’ door. 

“Derek?” Stiles frowns when he opens it up. “What the fu-”

Derek cuts him off with a kiss, deep and rough and possessive. Derek claims him. Derek claims all of him and he clutches him so tight. He never wants to let him go.

“What’s wrong, Derek?” Stiles says when they finally break apart. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he says. “But I can’t carry on like this.”

“Like what, Derek?”

“This. You avoiding me in front of her. You kissing her instead of me. I don’t want to be your dirty little secret, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice choked. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I can’t share you, for fucks sake. I want _all_ of you. I want you to be mine.”

“I always have been,” Stiles tells him, fast and firm and reassuring. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, can’t believe that maybe for once someone fell just as hard and fast as he did. His heart soars, up, up , up. “Always will be too, if you’ll let me.”

“Please,” Derek begs. Stiles wraps his arms around him and holds him close, pulls him out of the rain and kisses his hair until he stops shaking.

*

Cora isn’t surprised when Stiles turns up on the doorstep the next morning and tells her that he thinks she’s lovely but that he has to end things for her own sake.

“It was just for the summer anyway,” she shrugs, and he’s never been more grateful of how sweet and smart and funny and _easy_ she is. “But I’m still glad I met you.”

Stiles is glad he met her too. More glad than she’ll ever know.

*

Summer draws to an end. 

Stiles and Derek decide to keep whatever it is they have under wraps until Cora has left for college. Then there will be no more sneaking and no more hiding.

It’s a Saturday when she finally goes. She looks pretty and happy and ready to move on and start the new chapter of her life. She doesn’t even blink when Stiles comes over to wave her off and stands just a little too close to her brother. Maybe she knew all along. Stiles certainly did.

The two of them stand there in the middle of the road, waving at her in the wing mirror until her car is out of sight. They carry on standing there even when she’s gone, even when it’s finally just the two of them. Stiles feels something settle inside him. He doesn’t know what will happen now, or how long this fire for Derek inside his chest will keep on burning for. All he knows that he fell in love with the unexpected. He has Derek and Derek has him and they had their summer – and Stiles hopes with everything he has that they will have many more summers to come. 

“She’s nice,” Stiles says eventually. The sky is still impossibly brown and the sun is still impossibly bright and Stiles is finally ready for what comes next. “Cora is really, really nice.”

“She is,” Derek nods. And there’s so much more he wants to say, so many words right on the tip of his tongue, like _I want you_ and _I need you_ and _I love you_ and _please let me keep you_.

“But she’s not you,” he adds.

“She’s not me,” Derek agrees, and his hand finds Stiles’ and holds it tight.

**Author's Note:**

> @ tumblr [ here ](http://sarcasticlittleshitstiles.tumblr.com)for feedback x


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